The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) (7 page)

Kratzok cleared his throat.  “A debate for another time, perhaps,” he said.  “What do you intend to do when we reach Amstar?”

“Warn the Druavroks off, if I can,” Hoshiko said.  “If they won’t leave, I’ll have to engage them before they can turn their weapons on the planet itself.”

“And once you hold the high orbitals?”

“Try to impose a peace on the planet,” Hoshiko said.  “There are human and alien factions on the surface who will support us, I think.  The trick will be preventing them from committing genocide themselves, against the Druavroks.  Revenge is a very powerful human motivator.”

Kratzok leaned forward.  “And then?”

“I don’t have any solid long-term plans,” Hoshiko admitted.  “Our information on the sector is very lacking, Max.  If we’re lucky, we can put together an alliance of other races and ...
convince
... the bad guys to stand down.  If not, we may have to make up a new plan on the fly.”

“I’d like to go down to the surface, if I can,” Kratzok said.  “A full set of sensory recordings will be needed, Captain.  They’ll do better than a thousand pictures at explaining the current situation.”

“Assuming the situation is not resolved, one way or the other, before the recordings reach the Solar Union,” Hoshiko said.  She’d never cared for full sensory recordings herself - it was a little like living through someone else, rather than living her own life - but she understood their value.  Everyone who accessed the sensory recordings would be assaulted by
everything
the reporter saw, not just the sights and sounds.  It was almost as good as actually being there, she’d been told, but she had her doubts.  “There’s no way to speed up the signal, I’m afraid.”

“No,” Kratzok agreed.  “There should be some interesting stories to tell, Captain.”

Hoshiko looked at him.  “Why are you here?  I mean ... why are you on the squadron?”

“There aren't many true scoops these days,” Kratzok said.  “The reporter who breaks a piece of news, Captain, is often overshadowed by other roving reporters or armchair analysts who are happy to elaborate on The Meaning Of It All.  Getting the sort of fame I want isn't going to happen in the Solar Union.  There are just too many competitors.”

He sighed.  “And then there's the rush to get your recordings and articles online before someone beats you to the punch,” he added, “and then you make a tiny little mistake and your career is blown out of the water.  Being
here
, Captain, limits the competition’s ability to put out their own stories.”

“Except you didn’t
know
something was going to happen,” Hoshiko pointed out.

“I was losing readers,” Kratzok said.  “A couple of my rivals had lucky scoops, a couple of others ...”

His voice trailed away.  Hoshiko understood.  Being a reporter - or an artist - in the Solar Union meant an endless battle to stay in the public eye.  Losing subscribers to his mailing lists, online sites and suchlike indicated that a reporter was slowly sinking into obscurity - and, once the downward slide began, it was very hard to stop.  Gambling that
something
would happen he could use to rebuild his career had been his only reasonable option.

She smiled.  Being the sole reporter in the Martina Sector would give Kratzok a lock on all articles and recordings, at least until another reporter arrived.  And none of his rivals would know there was anything that needed covering for at least six months, giving Kratzok an edge they’d find hard to beat.  Kratzok would have ample time to make all the contacts he needed before anyone else arrived.

“You’ll have plenty of exclusives here,” she said, thinking hard.  “I may even be willing to offer you an interview with myself.”

Kratzok blinked.  “You would?”

Hoshiko smiled at his confusion.  She’d declined his first interview request, when he’d first arrived on station, and rarely spoken to him until the refugees had arrived.  And ambushing someone to demand an interview, even a serving government officer, was the kind of conduct that could get a reporter slapped with a heavy fine or a restraining order.  But now, he could help her as much as she could help him.  The Solar Union would find it harder to condemn her if public opinion supported her actions.

Because my orders are a little vague
, she thought. 
If they feel I overstepped myself, they can find grounds to condemn me
.

“All I ask is that you explain why we’re doing what we’re doing as well as
what
we’re doing,” she said.  He’d understand the unspoken part of the offer. 
You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours
.  He'd know what she was asking him to do, but it worked in his favour as well as her own.  “The public needs to know the truth.”

“Of course, Captain,” Kratzok said.  He gave her a long considering look.  “When can we hold the interview?”

“After we reach Amstar,” Hoshiko said.  “I have too much work to do to sit down with you before then.  But you can watch from the bridge as we enter the system.”

“I look forward to it,” Kratzok said.  He paused.  “They’ll see us coming, won’t they?”

“Yes,” Hoshiko said.  It wasn't easy to fool gravimetric sensors.  The Druavroks would see her squadron as it lanced towards the system.  She’d thought about having her warships towed by freighters, but there hadn't been time to organise it.  “But we’ll do our best to keep them guessing.”

Chapter Six

The Swiss Government declared a state of emergency after armed militia bands tried to cross the border into Switzerland from Austria.  Martial law has been declared.  Members of radical Islamic groups have been rounded up and marked for deportation.

-Solar News Network, Year 54

“This,” Thomas muttered, “is incredibly frustrating.”

He wasn't sure if the XO had assigned him to the task because he wanted a fresh pair of eyes or he merely wanted to give a young and inexperienced ensign a task that would keep him busy for several days, but either way he hadn't been able to pull anything
useful
out of the datafiles they’d obtained from Martina.  Either there
wasn't
much on the Druavroks, which struck him as unlikely, or the local settlers had deliberately decided to withhold information the squadron could actually
use
.  Their homeworld was clearly identified, their history as yet another race of bully-boys was discussed, but there was very little else.  There was certainly nothing that might suggest why they’d suddenly decided to declare war on the rest of the known universe.

Or maybe it’s just the bastards on Amstar
, he thought, as he flipped through the remaining files. 
The rest of the Druavroks might have no intention of fighting a war.

He puzzled over the thought for a long moment.  The Tokomak had spread millions of settlements of every known race right across the galaxy, mixing hundreds of races together in melting pots that hadn't been anything like as effective as the Solar Union.  He’d been told at the Academy that they’d probably hoped to play divide and rule.  They’d certainly not bothered to do more than the bare minimum to ensure that everyone got along.  Given that some races rubbed others the wrong way, fighting and ethnic cleansing on a galactic scale was perhaps inevitable. 

But we took in aliens and invited them to live with us as equals
, he added, silently. 
The Tokomak had far greater resources.  Why couldn't they do the same?

The Academy had had some pretty sharp things to say about the Tokomak, he recalled.  They were the masters of the known universe - had
been
the masters of the known universe - but they’d been sluggish, slow to move and unwilling to recognise that other races moved at a faster pace.  Maybe it had been so obvious to them that races should work together that they hadn't realised that other races might disagree.  Or, perhaps, they’d
hoped
there would be war as a way to stay on top.  They’d certainly played favourites among their subject races.

He sighed and turned his attention to the holographic display showing the local sector, including five hundred settled systems and nineteen homeworlds.  The Druavroks came from the far side of the sector, he noted; Amstar was in the rough centre, surrounded by a number of other multiracial worlds.  There was surprisingly little data on all of the worlds, save for charts showing gravity points and pre-war trade routes.  God alone knew what half of them looked like now.  The squadron had collected a great deal of intelligence, but most of it was contradictory.  It was impossible to tell what might be waiting for them at Amstar.

The hatch opened.  He turned and straightened in his seat as the Senior Chief entered, then rose.  Technically, as a commissioned officer, he was Siskin’s superior, but only a complete idiot of an ensign would take that for granted.  The Senior Chief, like the XO, dated back all the way to the pre-Contact wet navy.  He had more practical experience than all of Thomas’s graduating class put together.

“Ensign,” Siskin said.

“Chief,” Thomas said.  He hesitated, unsure if he should ask for help or not, then took the plunge.  “I can't draw anything else useful from these files.”

Siskin gave him a considering look.  “You can't get into them or there’s nothing
important
in them?”

“There's very little important in them,” Thomas said.  “I thought the Tokomak had a
fetish
for recording everything.”

“They do,” Siskin said.  “Natural bureaucrats, the lot of them.  Everything must be signed and dated in triplicate before they’ll get off their butts and do something.  But that doesn't mean they’ll share everything they know with the peons.  Can't have the peons knowing
too
much about how the universe works, can we?”

“No, sir,” Thomas said.

“Wrong answer,” Siskin said.  He smiled, rather dryly.  “Maybe you’re looking in the wrong place.”

“I don’t know where to look,” Thomas confessed.  He rubbed his eyes, tiredly.  “I’m not even sure why the XO gave me this job.”

“To see what you did with it,” Siskin said.  “If you needed to know something, Ensign, how would you find it out?”

Thomas frowned.  “Look it up online,” he said.  “The naval database has
lots
of data.”

“So it does,” Siskin agreed.  “And what would you do if the database doesn’t include information you need?  Like, perhaps, how to slot a missile launcher into a modified casing?”

“Oh,” Thomas said, remembering.  It had been one of the tests for young officers, back when he’d boarded the ship and he had a feeling he’d failed it, although no one had given him a definite answer.  There had been nothing in the files, but when he’d asked the Senior Chief in despair he’d been told that the launcher needed to be adjusted manually when it was halfway into the casing.  “I’d ask someone with more experience.”

He looked down at the deck for a long moment.  “But who on this ship has ... oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Siskin said.  “Why don't you ask Captain Ryman?”

Thomas looked back at the files on his screen.  “I thought I was meant to find out what the files said ...”

“You were told to learn what you can about the Druavroks,” Siskin corrected.  “Did the XO specifically
tell
you not to ask Captain Ryman or his crew?  They have something no one else on the ship has, Ensign: direct personal contact with our potential enemies.  You should ask them before we reach Amstar.”

Thomas glanced at the wall-mounted display.  They’d spent four days in transit, with three more to go before they arrived at their destination.  He’d hoped he’d find something useful in the files, something that would make the XO notice him as more than just another wet behind the ears ensign, but nothing had appeared.  Indeed, the ship’s intelligence staff had probably already come to the same conclusion.

“I’ll ask the doctor if I can speak to Captain Ryman,” he said.  “Thank you, chief.”

“Make sure you don't waste the opportunity,” the chief warned.  “You won’t get a second one, I suspect.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.  He hastily activated his implants, uploading the request to the doctor’s office, then looked back at the Senior Chief.  “Can I ask a question?”

“You can ask any question you like,” the Senior Chief said.  “Just remember that such questions are always a learning experience.”

Thomas paused, trying to organise his thoughts.  “The intelligence staff must have already gone through the files - and interrogated Captain Ryman,” he said.  A message popped up in front of his eyes, informing him that the doctor had cleared his visit to the freighter captain, provided he was quick.  “Why ask me to do it too?”

“I could give you two possible answers,” the Senior Chief said.  “First, having a number of different eyes on a problem makes it more likely that a solution will be found.  The intelligence staff are good at their work, but they’re not always good at understanding the real universe.  Second, the XO gave you the task to see what you would do with it.  Sure, you
could
have spent the next three days trying to get actionable intelligence out of some very thin files ... instead, you thought outside the box and found a new angle of approach.”

“After you helped me,” Thomas said, slowly.  He shook his head morosely.  “I should have thought of it for myself.”

“It isn't a crime to want to ask for help,” the Senior Chief said.  “And it isn't against regulations to ask for information one of your comrades or subordinates possesses.  You never know just how much your comrades know until you ask them.”

He shrugged.  “But it is a crime to hit a dead end and then continue to pick through the intelligence, rather than admitting that there’s nothing to find,” he added.  “That caused no end of problems with intelligence officers, back in the day.”

Thomas looked up at him.  “Can I ask a question?  I’ve looked at your file - the sections that were open to me, at least.  Why did you never switch to command track?  They’d have fast-tracked you through the Academy and made you a lieutenant as soon as you graduated.”

Siskin considered it for a moment.  “I’ve been a chief on a dozen vessels,” he said, slowly.  “I was a chief on the
Enterprise
, the aircraft carrier, long before I joined the Solar Navy and left Earth behind.  I grew to enjoy supervising crewmen and mentoring promising young officers, but it wasn't a task I could do properly back when I was younger.  Too much political interference.  Here ... I can do it properly
and
enjoy passing my wisdom on to older officers smart enough to listen.”

“I see, I think,” Thomas said.  “Why would anyone interfere, politically?”

“You’re not a senior officer,” Siskin said, “but you are someone who could grow into one, someone who could influence the future direction of the navy.  People who think about
anything
other than the long-term good of the navy try to influence selections and promotions in the hope of appeasing a political agenda.  And the fact you don’t understand what I’m talking about shows just how far the Solar Union has come.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said, privately resolving to look it up in the history files.  “Are you going to accompany me to see Captain Ryman?”

The Senior Chief gave him a
look
.  “Do you need your hand held?”

“No, sir,” Thomas said, quickly.  “I’ll record the meeting for later analysis.”

He nodded to Siskin, then headed out of the hatch and down towards sickbay.  A note popped up in his implants, ordering him to report to the XO at 1900; he placed a reminder in his calendar and then swore, inwardly, as he realised he’d be going on duty directly after his interview with the XO.  Unless the XO had decided to tell him that there had been a terrible mistake and his assignment to
Jackie Fisher
had been revoked.  He’d sometimes wondered, when he’d been feeling terribly inadequate, if he truly deserved his rank.

Doctor Carr met him at the hatch, her stern gaze making him feel around ten centimetres tall as he came to a halt and saluted.  She wasn’t in the line of command, technically, but only a fool would treat the ship’s doctor lightly.  Thomas wasn't the only ensign who was scared of a woman who could relieve the
captain
of duty, let alone a junior officer on his first deployment.  And being relieved would look very bad on his service record.

“Ensign,” she said.  “Captain Ryman is currently awake and reasonably healthy, but if he gets tired or agitated I want you to stop the interview at once.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, doctor,” Thomas said.  The next question popped out before he could stop himself.  “I thought he would have implants to compensate ...”

“He’s pushed them to the limit,” the doctor said, cutting him off.  “Implants can give your system a boost, ensign, but they can't compensate for
everything
.  He really needs a long period of rest and relaxation, so don’t push him too hard.”

She stepped back and pointed to a hatch.  “He’s in there,” she said.  “He said he would talk to you, so ... good luck.”

Thomas swallowed as he walked up to the hatch and pushed the buzzer, unsure if he should just walk in or not.  Back home, entering a person’s private apartment without their permission was a gross breech of etiquette, but in sickbay?  The doctor could walk in and out at will, he was sure ... the hatch hissed open, cutting off that train of thought.  Bracing himself, Thomas stepped into the private compartment.  Captain Ryman was sitting on his bed, reading a datapad.  He looked up and smiled, then nodded to the hatch.  It hissed closed behind Thomas.